Moving on

If there's one way to affirm or have your own private thoughts on any family film denied, it's to show them to your kids, who have had no background noise, no hype and no understanding of the apparent cultural significance of any 'old' films that you adore.

I have written in the past about how much they both loved the Errol Flynn Robin Hood film within a couple of minutes of the speculative viewing being on screen ("Don't turn it off!!!"). They're not so hot on Laurel and Hardy talkies, which turn out, now I look at them, to have a hell of alot of Tom and Jerry-esque cartoon violence in, which I would have simply accepted at the time, given that Tom and Jerry were children's TV staples. In these C-Beebies driven days, where you have to pay extra to get cartoon channels (so we don't), there is no concept of cartoon violence. So it jars.

After Errol Flynn came Harry Potter. The two of them gorged themselves on the first film, which I have to admit, with all the clunky acting from the kids, which I can forgive, there's n'ere a note wrong in the whole enterprise. It's a delight. Harry Potter 2 ie: the Chamber of Secrets... now that's proper scary. They're both a lot more wary of it. Regardless of Nor having read on until she has reached her own natural stopping point at about half way through the Half Blood Prince (Nora! it's < muffled voice >!). A huge bloody great snake pursuing Harry and the SPIDERS! Good God.

But something else entered our world in between the two films: "Star Wars, Episode IV: A New Hope".

Having to sit through those three films with the kids has been fantastic. They really *were* great. Exciting, timeless, emotional, epic, legendary. There is so much wrong with them but on a basic level, the simplicity of the stories in each film keep the children gripped. It is clear who is good, who is evil. There is no doubt, no confusion. Darth Vader wears an insane shiny PVC black suit; Luke and Leia wear white tunics. It is that simple. I already feel slightly jealous of friends whose kids aren't old enough yet for the lovely excitement of watching the films with their kids for the first time. For every clunky line there's a shot like the stunning long shot of Vader's head as he wrestles with his thoughts, watching his son being killed. It's a crazy shot. The man's wearing a complete head mask, and yet, with that brilliant music, the angst really is visible. Nor was devastated that Vader died after his redemption, and cried hard empathetic tears at his ritual funeral. Heady stuff.

The kids being seven and four watching "Return of the Jedi" has helped me come to terms with it. It makes so much more sense, seen in quick succession after the first two. "The Empire Strikes Back" had Nor in bits, and I'm not surprised. My recollection of Jedi was of a slightly embarrassing, twee film with a bunch of cute furry toys in, which didn't work and was all a bit daft. Well, yes, there are cute furry toys in, but it holds together pretty well with the action parts of the film, which are suitably epic.

...and so, having watched the three films - and by that, I mean the films that Lucas revisited with CGI and made some agonisingly dreadful changes to, the fact that the first three films exist in the world - that it's possible to find out who this Annakin Skywalker was, plus the fact that today's Star Wars is all about the clone wars, man, we had to watch "The Phantom Menace".

Yesterday, I showed the children the original trailer and I remembered, wistfully, the desperate downloading of two versions of that original trailer: one, the official one but the other, a rough and ready video from a cinema recorded by some guy. The *incredible* hairs on the back of the neck excitement at the gorgeous reworking of the Lucasfilm logo, all sparkling and precious and that roar from the cinema audience... I can still remember watching it, with some other folk, all clustered around a work desk, wanting to clutch each other, grinning like mad people... and here were Nora and James watching the same trailer saying "Who's that, is that Annakin? Is that Padme? Wow, that's fast... oh, is that the Emperor?" all excited questions which I refused to answer. I watched their wide eyed faces. "Again! Can we see it again?" Oh yes. And the debates we had at the time it was released sprang to mind. We'd forgotten, this was a film for kids, just like the originals. We were expecting too much. Well maybe watched through the lenses of childhood, it might not be quite the disjointed, terrible disaster area that I remembered?

Here is a measure of how good Episode 1 is: Nora has almost no idea what went on in the film, beyond the extreme basics of the Annakin journey. James nearly fell to sleep and was bored mindless. It was only sleepy inertia that kept him from leaving the room to come and read a book. They *loved* that C3PO and R2 were in it, and they seemed to desperately cling to any scene they were in. Particularly C3PO, who even with the limited script he was given, still had enormous warmth of character through Anthony Daniels' fantastic work. They blanked Ja Ja Binks completely. They just didn't care. The whole Padme/Amidala confused mess was totally lost on them, and they had no idea what the hell was going on there.

Speaking as the adult interpreter, having now seen this film for the second time only (that's how much I loathed it first time round), more than ten years ago I was gaping at how dreadful the film was. Sitting with the kids laid bare the horrors that awaited and made me cringe. The beginning of the film, you're thrown in to a confused, distancing trade dispute which could only mean absolutely nothing to the kids. Who were these things that looked a bit like sea creatures, that hadn't been in any of the first three films? Who, even worse, spoke with totally featureless faces in really heavy accents? Ah, here's the Emperor... and it's not explained that he isn't. Liam Neeson is magnificent. All heart. A real actor trying his best to make his character real. Ewan MacGregor is so wrapped up in getting his terrible, awful accent right that he seems almost entirely distant from his part. It's like watching a cardboard cut out. The kids really didn't like his character at all, and what a dreadful thing, for the film to do that to the legend that is the wonderful, all-heart decency of Alec Guinness's older man? For a short while, when the film moves to Tatooine, it makes sense. It makes sense because the film suddenly becomes small, no huge vistas and complicated business. Just the story of a little boy (and Annakin is played really well. Very sweetly). Both Nora and James were totally engaged throughout this sequence, including the pod race - my lord, they loved the pod race. They loved the Padme character's smiley loveliness and slightly awkward spikeyness. I realise now, one of the reasons these sequences work is that Ewan MacGregor isn't in them!

On Tatooine, the overdoses of cgi weren't in fact, as much of a problem. The characterisation of the slave owner isn't too bad, and the nasty pod racer guy... a lot of thought went in to their physical shapes. Nora and James 'got' these two completely. After the characters leave this planet though, a whole mess of blank faces for quite a while. Ultimately, complete non-interest until the big showdown with Darth Maul. But even in that, I was left thinking in astonishment - what the hell was the business with the red force field doors? Never explained, they simply let it happen as a shambolic answer to the question: How do we separate Obi Wan from Qui-Gon Jinn? (why the complicated name with such short screen time? If I asked the kids, they would have no idea what Neeson's name was). No exposition, no desperate droid led fight to take the shield doors down... *anything* would have been better than the stupidity of the half solution. And yes, Maul does look fantastic, pacing up and down, waiting. And yes, the fight is *fantastic*. So, the film claws back a little something and the kids are re-engaged, albeit briefly. Only for that engagement to be squandered at the badly handled Annakin-in-space-accidentally-blows-up-the-big-ship episode. Sigh. They really didn't understand what the hell was going on.

I haven't really mentioned the horror that is Jar Jar Binks and his race, have I? I can remember the jaw dropping mortification in the cinema, in Streatham in a majority black audience, cringing in my seat at the Rasta accent debacle. But, there's a much more important point to make (although it's very contributory). Binks is not played by a decent actor, and his character fails through a combo of Uncanny Valley-ness but also simply bad scripting, and bad story. He's all over the main characters like a bad rash, gumming up the works with dialogue so superfluous you desperately wish him off the screen. Face it, if the entire underwater race were expunged from the film, would you miss them? The Naboo could easily have been the opposing army in the big fight. Why do we even need these creatures that do nothing but expose the limitations of cgi? Was he supposed to be the main comedy character? Nothing he says is funny. Nothing. His most supposedly amusing scene, where his tongue is numbed and he can't speak? The kids didn't even smile briefly. I'm not simply projecting my adult view, he really does not work. On any level. ask yourself, why does Yoda stand out so fantastically, despite being a model? Why does C3PO? Because they are read by excellent character actors who give them heart. The only impression we're left with for Binks is a garbled accent which must have taken weeks to perfect.

Phew. So. If you look at the difference between the original film and this, the evidence is stark. Lucas ballsed it up. It doesn't work as an adult film; it doesn't work as a kids film. If you sliced back all the tedious trade cobblers and made the film concentrate around the story of Annakin, then yes. A tight hour and a half of an action film that at least might live up to the originals part of the way. You'll notice I haven't even mentioned the explanation of The Force. What. Were. They. Thinking. Blank faces all round at home. Symbionts? What? And the question I ask myself - if we had started watching the films in the 'right' order, ie: started with this film, would the kids have even been interested in watching episode 2? It trades so heavily on the future action, watching these films second is the only thing that makes sense and certainly, it would be the only reason to keep watching, rather than consign this misconceived space opera to the dustbin of time.

I'm quite sad, that it turns out it's really Not Good, still. Somehow, I hoped that in the years since its release it might have somehow matured in to an 'alright' film, from the mess I remembered. I hope the kids don't want to re-watch it but of course they will, because the Annakin story and Neeson somehow hold the creaking ship together. We have the miserable prospect of Parts 2 and 3 to come. 2 was so bad, I have never even seen part 3. Imagine that: Lucas did so much damage to his own vision, I couldn't bear to put myself through the very film in which Annakin turned to the dark side?

James said something the other night which is all part of him reaching more understanding of what happens, why it happens, and what will happen... in terms of death.

-Mummy?

Yes my lovely?

-When I die, will I lie next to you in the ground?

(Heart crumbles in to pieces, internal jaw is peeled off the floor of my brain and I search for the right answer, desperately).

The answer is to talk about when I die, they'll put me in the ground and plant a tree on top of me, so the tree will suck me up and I'll become the tree. The tree will be me and you can sit under me, and come and visit. You could even use me to make furniture out of, and sit down on me! A long, long time later you can, of course you can be next to me.

-And I'll be on one side, and Nora on the other, and Daddy on the top?

My lovely boy, of course. But it won't happen for a long, long time.

Heh. Maybe.

It's the first time he's mentioned death for ages though. For a while, he would bring it up alot, trying to get around Grandad John not being around, why Nora remembers him but he doesn't, and why he died. It was fine for him to ask those questions, and I never minded answering but it was a little bit wearing after a while. I think now he's sort of got his head around it a bit more, albeit in a somewhat extreme fashion.

I have been on such a political "tip" (yo) of late, I have neglected to inform you of the comings and goings of the kids. I apologise to any stalkers out there.

Generally speaking it's all good. James started a gymnastics class given that he spends alot of his time spinning around and jumping off furniture to music. I thought he might as well see if he can learn to spin and jump without cracking his head open. In fact, in the back of my mind I'm wondering if he'd be good at dancing - the proper sort - but he hasn't got the attention span, plus he's not really one for communal 'joining in' type endeavors. He loves attention and achievement, but he likes it on his own terms, not having to perform in front of others to do it. So, gymnastics it is.

His nursery teacher says his reading's pretty good, wide vocabulary etc. It's extremely difficult for me to guage James' reading in comparison to other boys or children, given that by this age, Nora was reading "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" by herself, whereas James is easily bored by the strain of the "aha!" moment not having happened yet. He still has to construct so many words out of sounds in the end he gets fed up and moans that you should be reading to him instead. But, I have to remember, Nora was a bizarre freak child ;) I know James is ahead. I don't worry about it to be honest. He loves being read to, loves stories, and is getting there in his own time. At some point he'll start reading words back to me of his own volition and things'll start chugging along more quickly.

The fairly interesting thing is that James is streaking ahead in his maths comprehension, apparently. Which makes me realise we haven't got enough around the house to help him. We had a number line for Nor and of course it got ripped along the way. I must get that together. It's rather sweet that so many aspects of him are Mackayish. Stuck is a huge great Irish Hurley body. Heheh. He has my sense of daftness though, along with his sister. I am much proud of that trait. Definitely has origins in my Mother :)

Meanwhile the end of term approaches. A summer stretches ahead with my poor husband desperately thinking up new things for them to do every day. They are (or rather, James is) somewhat less random now though. They are sheperdable. Country days out and such may well be on the agenda.

The kids are all getting skittish at school. Potentially something that contributed to a particular lad in Nora's class pushing her over in PE so that her face and mouth crashed directly onto the tarmac. I didn't see Nor until the evening at the end of term school disco, weirdly, where she showed me inside her mouth and to be honest it was a bit of a shock. Proper physical damage always makes one think of objective medical photos, somehow. It doesn't look real, or attributable to the person you love. All I can say is that I've not seen a gum injury like it. Luckily it seems relatively superficial but ugh, good god. It still looks horrible. I can state with absolute certainty that her two adult front teeth being only part grown / barely there at all, is the reason why she will still have her own two front teeth and not artificial ones. I'm amazed she didn't lose any. Poor Nora. Awful. That's two nasty 'mouth bang down on the pavement/floor' incidents she's had now in her life. The first killed her front baby tooth and it went grey. I'm just hoping that the mouth's ability to heal itself will keep this from being too awful. That and some antibacterial mouthwash.

James' reading hazily comes more in to focus by the day. If he tries hard he can read whole sentences from his Kipper & Floppy books. More often though he'll flop back and whine that he wants to be read to - as long as I talk him through letter sounds and we construct one or two words per session, I'm not too stressed. He does everything in his own time.

The books he enjoys being read to him are becoming far more complex however. He's starting to really enjoy Pooh stories - much more so than Nora. He's been sitting happily through the Horrid Henry stories since Christmas. Nora was complaining that she'd read all her books and they're all boring, so I picked out The Iron Man from their shelves (repackaged as "The Iron Giant" which is an annoyingly more memorable title), knowing she'sd never looked at it.

As I held the beautiful second hand paperback in my hand, with the name of that wonderful writer on the front, looking at the kids sitting on the bed waiting to read something and looking sceptical, I felt a teary choke in my voice. This was the first time in their lives they were going to hear the story.

Blimey.

And here's the thing. I realised I could barely remember it. The dragon section had totally obliterated itself from my brain and I'd been infected by the delightful, but almost entirely unrelated film, called of course, "The Iron Giant". And another thing, reading Ted Hughes' beautiful words (you have to read it out loud, it's like a feast for your aural senses), I was struck again by something I'm slowly learning as I go along - how different it is being a boy. To a four year old James, this was a wonderful story. A massive, elemental metal man, eating old cars and tractors, schlunching across fields and muddy farms, chewing barbed wire with glowing blue / red / green eyes like massive lamps. And the story of a brave boy, but a brave boy with compassion, who senses and feels that something is wrong. Then the whole thing turns in to a huge, enormous, stupendous, crazy story about a giant dragon the size of a planet! How much more BOY could you get!

He loved it. Nora loved it. It's completely bloody fantastic, and I would strongly recommend you buying it immediately to read aloud to your kids.

The whirl of positivity that is December (if you have young children, at least) began in earnest on Saturday with the 'secret day out'.

It was written on the calendar: "Day out". Nora was fascinated. Are we going to the Zoo? No, that's next Saturday. Where are we going then? Aha... wait and see. Her interest and strain grew as the week went on, and spilled over in to a bad mood by Thursday. Tell me! (Duckface very much making an appearance). So, the night before we went, we told her half the story. Under oath not to tell James.

We were going to meet Thomas the Tank Engine.

Didcot Railway Centre is a delight, staffed by energetic volunteers who roll about in ecstasy at their luck to be able to spend their spare time working on, training to, and driving beautiful restored railway steam engines. The journey there was comparatively, monstrously easy for us, comprising as it did of: a bus, 2 tubes and a train. But, leaving the house at 9, we were there by 11.28. Really not bad. James meanwhile, still did not know what we were doing, and I felt a bit mean that he couldn't read. He spotted a silhouette picture of a steam train on a sign at Didcot station and smiled. We feigned ignorance and carried on walking. When we came out in to the grey sunshine from the tunnel, there was nothing to show what was happening apart from a small shed, and a few people milling about. there were rails, but then, we were still at a train station, weren't we.

Suddenly, from the left, came that beautiful, hairs on the back of the neck sound: a proper chuff chuff chuffing as an engine, with green livery, wide and flat bodied rather than rounded came toward us from round a bend. It was carrying two coaches, and it had a vast, circular smiling face on the front.

James stood still in total shock and amazement. Not so much stood, but more like, he looked like he might execute a startled star jump. His face beamed out light and he jumped as he yelled "IT'S A STEAM ENGINE!!!".

Oh yes. Not just one, but a walk along the path revealed a proper engine shed, just like Thomas, with smiling engines on all the lines going in. It was overwhelmingly amazing, and fantastic! So we decided to go on Duck before going to try and find Thomas.

Why are steam engines so glorious? It's not just nostalgia. They weren't going when I was young. More, they were rusting hulks in elephant graveyards, but looking at them up close, they emanate the pride the people who made them so obviously had. They wear their engineering on the outside. They demonstrate their power visibly and on a cold day, the fire in their bellies is visible and tangible. Even though surely, being the coalman in that tiny space with the driver must be a bloody miserable job, you envy the opportunity to feed the mighty beast as its plumes of dragon smoke and steam are ejected with huge force. A modern diesel and electricity fueled engine is a bulk made appliance, in contrast to these forged, elemental beings. They're magnificent.

After we had left Duck's lovely old carriage (third class) we walked up from the other end of the Centre compound. At some point, nora saw the sign "Ride with Thomas and meet Father Christmas". What??! Father Christmas? Smiles of amazement all round, as we walk up towards where Thomas was sitting, waiting. In fact, the whistle was about to blow for that bunch of children, so we stood and watched as Thomas whistled and chugged backwards out of the 'station' and down the line. The centre had really done a decent job - they'd found a proper small sized tank engine and his livery was great, although it could have done with a clean. I told James (who said "Thomas's face is dirty!") that was was dirty from having puff puffed children along the branch line all day.

Waiting for the return of Thomas, we went in to the engine shed. More amazement and awe at seeing really huge engines close up. Then a return to the Thomas queue, with all the other small children, and ridiculously happy, smiling parents. A small glimpse of the not-really-very-fat Controller (James decided he was the Thin controller - aha. Good work). Ushered in to a Christmassy carriages, we edged up the line toward the front, where 'Mother Christmas' was executing through-put.

Now Nora had a bad Father Christmas experience the other day. She saw the person billed as Father Christmas on top of a bus in Streatham, and decided in short order that it wasn't. Why was he pretending to be Father Christmas? It wasn't fair. Nora cried. She's very close to asking the wrong question now, and when she does, I will not lie to her. I have always promised I never would, but have sidestepped the question in the past, with "Well, what do you think?" and other vaguely encouraging noises. So this was a bit of a make-or-break. Mother Christmas was a lovely slightly older woman of quite spherical size and grey hair, dressed up in red velvet, who had the ease with children of a well versed Grandmother, and was full of anecdotes about Rudolph, who has a purple nose currently because he has a cold. She spun tales about the elves and told the children that she had put Father christmas on a diet, so that he could eat anything he liked over Christmas - and presumably become rotund again. By the time we were ushered through, Nora was under a kind of spell, which saw her through one of the worst Father Christmas impersonators I have ever seen. Under 30, slim, and wearing a terrible false bear with straps showing, he made absolutely no effort to be friendly beyond putting on a low voice and saying "Ho ho" a couple of times. He looked like someone who had been pushed in to doing the task at the last minute, and had no enthusiasm for it. Mck and I were heartbroken. Nora was silent, and I was desperately worried she would burst in to tears at any moment. They received their gifts each after relating what they wanted for Christmas (James was a little shy and amazed) and we went out of the carriage.

Nora said nothing.

James was desperate to open his present, which was a rather gloriously oversized tractor. Perfect for a small boy. For this, Father Christmas was a total hero. Nora opened her present - a maths-friendly jigsaw with 36 large pieces. We made encouraging noises about how she'd only been saying she liked maths yesterday, and how Father Christmas must have heard her. Nora remained inscrutable, and stood, basically silent. We went back on thomas, and along to the front of the Centre.

The rest of the day: another ride on Duck (this time in first Class - what stunning carriages they were too - basically equipped with armchairs!) and some 'making things' and playing. And receiving a long balloon each. James constantly playing with his tractor. When we had got off Duck, we went and sat at the front of him, on a bench, so we could see him whistle, and shunt his way back down the line. McK too a video of him chugging. James said "Thank you for giving us a ride, Duck!", and I smiled indulgently. Then later, on our way out, Duck was still masterfully chugging up and down the line. James called across, "Duck! Look at my balloon!". To him, the magical engines really were alive. Their rictus smiles in place for politeness's sake. He decided that at the end of the day they would be able to sigh in relief and yawn before going to sleep. Even Nora half believed, and neither of them questioned the way their faces had been hung on the front of the engines, looking a little battered around the edges from years of storage, and use.

Aftermath...

Sitting eating her tea, Nora said "Why was Father Christmas wearing a beard that wasn't real?". We feigned confusion. She had seen the elastic straps on the all too obvious, tatty white beard, and because she hadn't asked 'the question', and because it was clear he had been real to her, I remembered that Raymond Brigg's Father Christmas was recognised everywhere he went on holiday. so maybe he only grows his beard actually at Christmas, and the rest of the time he shaves, so that people won't recognise him. That, it seemed, was the correct answer.

Aunty Clare, Uncle Tim and their lovely zippy little boy came over on Sunday. James told his cousin proudly who had given him his new tractor. "Father Christmas!" "Oh", said Aunty Clare, not aware of when this event occurred: "Who did we meet yesterday? "

...This could all go horribly wrong.

-Who did we meet yesterday, darling? It was Father Christmas wasn't it!

McK stood with a fixed smile, looking a bit desperate. I chimed in. "Wow, he was so busy yesterday wasn't he? He was in Bristol in the morning, and he must have come on the train or used his sleigh because we met him at Didcot in the afternoon, didn't we?" Nods of agreement from the two small people present.

Phew.

I predict that I will not be writing about meeting Father Christmas in quite the same way for Nora ever again.

...I've got a feeling I've done kettle before though. I am a creature of a small but intensely held series of thoughts

Family updates a go-go.

Meanwhile, I have a tale of surprising positivity where Ikea is concerned. James' dust allergy appears to be having far more outward symptoms these days, which is sad. He wakes up sounding like he has a heavy cold every day, and about 20 minutes in to leche / story time, he will suddenly sneeze, twice, necessitating the removal of an enormous amount of heavy duty, dark green mottled snot. He's been breathing in dust all night, see. not to mention the red eyes and constant rubbing in the evenings.

So. Children's' stuff tends to be dust-trap-a-go-go, so after extensive research I found that Ikea's "Trofast" system comes with the potential for lids for all its bucket-like plastic slot-in shelving er... bits. Reducing available surfaces to flat, hooverable cover ups is far, far preferable to a random surfaced clump of god knows what ie: a load of old junk piled up in a corner or something.

Astonishingly, I found myself deciding to go to Ikea on a Saturday night, after the kids had finally gone to sleep and managed to get there at 10pm, 1 hour before closure. After racing (as much as you can do whilst pushing a huge wheely trolley) through the store, finding a total lack of colour choice and thus ending up filching as many plastic buckets (of varying sizes) from the displays as I could, afterwards negotiating the utterly frustrating crap of dragging your arse through the 'market place' to get to the not exactly awful but nevertheless extremely tiring business of dragging enormous cardboard covered packages on to your trolley. On your own. At 10.40 at night... I did indeed manage to purchase our entire shelving solution. Sans lids! Not a single bloody lid in the place! The whole point: the very reason I'd chosen this system in the first place was missing. They'd all been gonded by shoppers braving the Sat afternoon scrum.

Two things happened subsequent to standing in the till queue at 10.50 on Saturday night:

1) They delivered all the goods at 7.45am the following morning. Less than 12 hours after I'd bought the stuff. Now that, I respect, I have to say. There is much wrong with the Ikea experience, so it's surprising to write something positive about them.

2) You can get the lids online! Wooo!

So, hopefully we should be able to organise the kid-crud, and maybe reduce James' symptoms. I hope so.

Oh, bugger. That's a post, isn't it! Well, er... it'll be ages till the next one, just you wait.

James went mad, demanding 3 feeds a night. He was making up for lost time after the last hot spell. Then what happened - another hot spell. We've been under house arrest since Friday afternoon, and James' sleeping, eating etc are *all over the place*. He's losing weight by the day - he only wants to drink foremilk (and I don't blame him). I've been trying to bolster him up with the odd bit and piece of formula & expressed here and there, but it's difficult when he's totally lost any sense of "every three / three and a half hours" (hour and a half or half an hour, anyone?) and the old knockers are full to bursting. I'm throwing it away at the moment to make sure I don't reduce - can you imagine having less milk when this hot spell breaks? The kid is going to be hoovering food up like some kind of suckage monster.

And I know it's alright, and I know he's perfectly happy but I'm a Mother, am I not. therefore *any* idea of my Lovely not eating or dear god, losing weight is enough to drive me in to the paranoia side of town.

And it' only early July. You know, when it went over 30 in June I had a bad feeling about this summer - and the current dense heat is only making me feel more forboding. It's going to be hot until mid September.

...thank God though, less than 2 weeks till solids. Six months, me arse. How time disappears!

Having done the "no nothing" diet for a couple of weeks, we now begin the "gingerly introduce it and see what happens" diet.

First off: Soya. So... off I go to buy some Cauldron soya sausages. Except the health food shop doesn't have any, and every other product with soy in turns out to also have wheat protein or milk in. Bah! In the end I thought, sod it, and bought some chocolate flavour "Tofitee" or whatever it's called - ie: erzatz ice cream for vegans. For masochists, more like - it's entirely revolting. 1/2 a tub yesterday, half a tub today and absolutely no raised reaction from hisc nibs. We'll wait till tomorrow morning to judge events but it looks good so far.

Having done the one food product I thought he wasn't going to react to, I'm now in a bit of a bind. Do we go for milk or wheat before going away next Monday to my Dad's house (in France) or do I eat the diet from hell until we come back, so that we can be in control of James' health whilst we're out there?

Uhuhuh.. what do you think?

*smacks head at timing*. Righto. Rice cakes are going to take up alot of space in my luggage then. Arse!

...and still nothing from the paediatrician. I'm phonig the doc's tomorrow so I can get the right hospital department, phone them and ask them what the hell's going on.

Is diisgusting. The only way it can be stomached:Wait until glaggably hot, then glug as fast as possible. Any cooler and the trench-watery soil like taste is overpowering.

well, I'm sure it must be doing me some good as well as reducing James' inflamation. But I tell you what, I managed 3 mugs of it today, and will do the same tomorrow - if there's no evidence of inflamation reduction, it's going in the bin!

Bearing in mind Ian's comment (yes, I know I shouldn't be quite so certain in my home grown diagnoses, but I certainly wouldn't class an in depth article with heavy bibliography from the La Leche League on the same terms as, say, heh - someone telling you in a discussion group when to take Echinacea, for example ;) here's what the Doc said. Fuck all.

Well. I say that. He gave us a repeat prescription for a product that is no longer made, which was very helpful. In classic NHS fashion, he decided to go for the jugular and treat the symptoms, rather than the cause, so we are... well, were to use an emollient cream from Oilatum. Except we can't. And it was then too late to phone the Docs and get him to sort out an alternative. And it's Bank holiday weekend. Gee.

I asked if we could do some allergy tests given that he has congestion, colic, swollen eyelids, eczema and several other allergic reaction symptoms. Apparently not. He's too young (um... they do the allergy tests on infants in the States?). This is just classic childhood eczema apparently. Well... er, I read that it could be something I'm eating. I was thinking about cutting out some foods to see if it makes any difference, since 90% of the skin reaction is happening about the head and neck where my milk touches his skin? Oh. Yes, well if you want to. And we'll have a review at the eight week check.

Sigh.

It occurred to me there's one item I can eat that has protein in it and is veggie friendly - the horrors of Quorn. Grown in vats, don't you love it. I may have to bite the bullet and do a big bean casserole and hope his stomach can cope - but then if his abdominal colic is allergy based, he might not really have such a bad time with beans? Sigh. I have no idea.

It's not good. Looking behind your tiny (well, I say tiny, he's 11 lbs already) baby's ear and seeing a crustaceous surface, pitted and weeping. Or gently cupping his head and on places on his face and skull, feeling raised bumps so numerous as to swamp the soft baby skin underneath. He has red spots drifting down his torso now like flakes of snow. It's making the surface of his skin pretty hot, which I don't like one bit.

Now to investigate the SOS cream... I wonder how much allergy tests cost? A pretty penny, I wouldn't doubt.